Chase A Rumour, Catch A Monster
by Earthcat123
Summary: Rumours have been heard outside Nottinghamshire of the Sheriff's treatment of his peasants, and one woman thinks she can change things with a few words and a charming smile. But when one chases rumours, what will be waiting at the other end? Set pre-Season Two.
1. Chapter 1

**I would like to thank Steph (BackwardsMuffin) for the inspiration for this fic... Well, I say that. I was talking to her when inspiration hit me, actually, but it's almost the same thing.**

**Enjoy...  
**

Hooves could be heard echoing throughout Sherwood Forest, the only sounds at all that morning besides the continuous chirruping of birds. There were travellers on the Great North Road, bound for Nottingham. Five riders; a lady and her guard. But there are Outlaws in this forest; no one can be guaranteed safe passage, especially not during the last hours before dusk.

Robin Hood watched them pass below him and signalled to his men. He did not need to turn; he knew that they would be watching. Sure enough, from his vantage point in the tree he watched as the front rider was knocked by a swinging log from his horse, sending him tumbling to the ground. The others brought their horses to a stop, fighting to control the panicking beasts. Robin smiled. These would be easier pickings than most, he reasoned.

He shot a white-feathered arrow from his tree, embedding it in the front of the lady's saddle. To his surprise, she did not turn her head in a desperate attempt to locate her attackers, but merely regarded the arrow with curiosity and pulled it from the leather. Her guard began to draw their swords.

"No," she ordered. "Dismount, all of you. There are, after all, outlaws in these woods."

The soldiers did as they were told without question, and Robin took a moment to admire their loyalty to their mistress before dropping almost silently from his tree. His men took their cue, and in seconds the peaceful forest came alive with the fierce battle cries of five men. Robin himself stepped out from the barricade of foliage, a wry smile on his face.

"This is an ambush," he announced. "And this is how it works."

"The poor are starving," Will Scarlett continued.

"Tell us what of value you are carrying," ordered Much.

"Leave nothing out," Djaq cut in

"If you are telling the truth, we will take one tenth," Alan A Dale calmly explained.

"Lie," Little John hissed by contrast, "And we take it all."

Robin strode, hands on hips, to the stand in front of his men. "So what will it be?"

"The truth, then, obviously," the lady declared. "Although if you were paying any attention, Robin of Locksley, you would know that I do not carry much on my person for fear of being robbed by outlaws. Or should I now address you as Robin of Sherwood?" She looked down on Robin, the same smile he was exhibiting worn on her face. For a moment he was confused until, at the end of her speech when she removed the hood she wore to keep her hair in place as she rode, the recognition set in.

"My Lady Grace," he spread his arms in welcome and played a low bow. "Forgive me, I did not recognise you, and was not aware you had business in Nottingham."

"That much is evident at the least." Lady Grace dismounted her horse; a beautiful white mare; and stepped forwards. Robin took her hand and brought it theatrically to his lips, keeping his playfully cheeky eyes on hers all the time. Suddenly, neither could keep it up any longer, and dissolved into laughter as they embraced.

"It's so good to see you again," Robin stated, looking his old friend over. She had grown more beautiful than their last meeting; a feat he had sworn would not be possible; yet there were signs of age already on her face. She was only late in her twenties, but lines of weariness had begun to crease her brow. Concern fluttered inside Robin. Times were hard in the South as well, it seemed.

"Does anyone know what just happened?" Much enquired, looking around the rest of the gang for assistance.

"Gang," Robin turned to face them. "This is Lady Grace, daughter of the Sheriff of Hampshire. Your Ladyship, this is my gang of ruthless outlaws."

"I resent that," Much whined.

"Don't pout, Much," Alan clapped him on the back. "It makes you look like a girl."

"Oi..."

"Be quiet you two," Robin commanded. Much sulked, but the two complied. Grace laughed.

"So the rumours are true. I almost did not want to believe them, what with the horrors they contain."

"Horrors?"

"Tales have reached us Southerners of a Robin Hood of Sherwood. Some claim you to be a barbarian; attacking nobles and leaving them for dead on the roads. Others are more... Shall we say, sympathetic?"

"Spread by the Sheriff, no doubt," Will murmured.

"Quite likely. I have sensed a pattern; the stories framing you as a hero are popular among the peasantry, while those claiming you to be a murderer tend to spread between visiting nobles. Someone has it out for you, Robin."

"There are many people who want me dead. What brings you to Nottingham, Grace?"

"My father's business, such as it is."

Robin read her suddenly sombre expression, and his own immediately became serious. "What has happened?"

"The same that is happening throughout England. Prince John is replacing his Sheriffs with men more suited to his own tastes. My father is an old man. I do not know how long he will be able to keep his position, or how long his health will out even then"

"And what can we do for you?"

Lady Grace's face softened. "Nothing, really. I am here visiting your Sheriff on business and I thought I would call in on an old friend. Although, I did not expect the villagers of Locksley to tell me I would find you in Sherwood Forest."

"A detail. So what does bring you to Nottinghamshire?"

"For a long time my father has been too unwell to travel, so I go in his stead. Although, the longer I can keep his ill health a secret from the likes of your Sheriff the better. I am here to discuss the stories we have heard of your county's obscene taxes."

Relief washed through the outlaws. "I am glad that word has finally reached people of influence," Robin confessed. "Although I do not know what your visit will achieve; the Sheriff is not easily swayed in such matters as taxes."

"Not if he is anything like the rumours say. My father warned me he would be a challenge."

"What will you say if they ask for an explanation for his absence?"

"Oh, something. I'll tell them there was a disturbance at home that he did not want to leave unresolved; that should satisfy anyone who does ask. Now, I must go; he is expecting me at sunset, and I couldn't possibly keep him waiting; he might think I was in league with his enemies."

Again the suggestive smile re-appeared and Grace, as well as her four guards, mounted her horse. "Here, take this," she threw a velvet purse down to Robin's waiting hands. "My donation to your cause. And a lot more than a tenth, I can assure you."

With a click of her tongue Grace urged her horse onwards, her guard once again moving into formation around her as they continued at a steady trot down the Great North Road.

So far, it had been a good day. A productive day. A day in which nothing had been stolen. In which no outlaws had intercepted any taxes or, embarrassingly, broken into the castle and taken them from under the Sheriff's nose. Yes, it had been a good day indeed, all things considered.

That same Sheriff sat in his Great Hall, gleefully dropping shilling coins one by one into a chest at his feet. It was actually on the table, but so where his feet, so it wasn't an inaccurate statement.

"Fifty pounds," he said out loud. "Fifty glorious pounds, this week alone. Fifty beautiful, gleaming pounds, all for me and my little project..."

"Fantastic, my Lord," Guy of Gisbourne interrupted him, striding into the room and down the stairs. As usual he was devoid of any happiness at all in his tone, and was accompanied by the creak of leather. Either he had many outfits of the same style, the Sheriff mused, or he never washed. He hoped it was the former; he was supposed to be the disgusting one around this castle.

"Fantastic indeed, Gisbourne. It would be so good if we could manage the same next week."

"Yeah, I came to inform you that the Lady Grace of Hampshire has arrived. Without incident, by the look of it."

The Sheriff's shoulder's sagged; Gisbourne had been in a foul mood since the whole Marian business, and quite frankly it was raining on his parade. On every parade he had had since, for that matter.

"Oh good," he said, meaning the opposite. "Well, where is she?"

"In her room; she did not want to begin business until tomorrow morning."

"Wonderful."

"My Lord, I thought her visit was an inconvenience."

"It is," the Sheriff snapped, getting up from his seat at the table. "Do you really think I need some pretty from the South sticking her nose in my business? A clue: no. I will tell her what she undoubtedly wants to hear and then send her packing."

Gisbourne nodded, otherwise unmoving from his stance at the foot of the Great Hall stairs. The Sheriff hated how he could do that; stand, sit, lean, or undergo any other position without the slightest movement. It seemed to come completely natural to him, and it irritated the Sheriff to no end.

"You say she had no incident on the road?"

"None that my guard could report."

"Your guard? So you did not meet her yourself?"

Gisbourne shifted uncomfortably. "No, my Lord. The Lady Grace and I are old acquaintances; I did not think she would want to see me until she was well rested."

"Gisbourne, you have a mysterious habit of making enemies of women. Lepers, remember, all of them. Now, make sure this Grace woman has every comfort she needs."

"You think we can get something from her."

"Indeed. She is rich, Gisbourne, and she is here to complain about the taxes in Nottinghamshire. If I play it the right way, she will be... only too happy to assist her poor fellow Englishmen." He turned to Gisbourne, looming a good few inches over him yet again, and laughed a wheezy laugh. Gisbourne also smirked; as far as he ever got to true amusement; but the gesture was not entirely genuine.

"Now now, Gizzie," he crooned. "There will be no foul play, if that sooths that horrendously active conscience of yours. At least, no more than usual."

He laughed again and strode past Gisbourne up the stairs, his good mood rekindled. "Put that away," he ordered the general consensus of guards, and waved absently to the chest of coins on the table. After all, the day was not yet over, and he would not leave his precious gold lying around for anyone to help themselves to it.

**Thanks for reading, please review.**


	2. Chapter 2

**So, I would like to thank my lovely guest reader for reviewing Chapter One, and I hope you enjoy the next bit.  
**

The next morning dawned bright and, surprisingly for the English spring, devoid of rain. Discussions with the Sheriff did not begin until a more sensible hour, so Grace thought she would take a ride. She did not wake her guard; she would not go far, and any bandit not loyal to dear Robin would be less likely to stop a woman alone than a woman surrounded by soldiers. And besides, she had another friend to visit in Nottingham.

She had always liked this county, even though her visits had only been few and brief. It was filled with woodland, its villages emerging from clearings and surrounded by beautiful, ancient trees. Her own home, while lying on the sea front, lacked the natural beauty of Nottinghamshire; it was bigger, and therefore home to more people. That meant more space being needed for housing, and that meant fewer trees. It was, as her father would say, a sacrifice one had to pay in the modern age. But still, it was a shame. And it made visits to other counties far more pleasurable.

As she rode at a steady canter through the trees, Grace wondered of her friends from the past. Robin was alive and, even if not quite how she had imagined, well. That left two others; Lady Marian of Knighton, whom she was setting out to visit now, and Sir Guy of Gisbourne. Her heart knotted as she thought of him; their last parting had been painful, and she did not even know if he even resided in Nottinghamshire anymore. Perhaps things would have been different, she thought for the thousandth time at least, if their plans had not been forced to change. She did not know, and most likely never would; dwelling on it would not change a thing.

Even after so many years she still remembered the roads that led her to Knighton Hall, and the sun was just making itself seen over the low hills as she arrived. She saw movement in an upstairs window; the occupants were awake, at least.

She tied up her horse, knocked gently on the front door and waited, studying her surroundings for the first time since her teenage years. They had not changed considerably; flowers still grew around the porch, and the friendly creepers remained crawling up the sides of the house. She smiled to herself as she examined the patch of earth, scorched to this day from hers and Marian's boyish childhood experiments with flints and kindling.

An elderly face opened the door; a face she knew was once kind but now had been tainted with suspicion and hostility. The face of Sir Edward, she decided, had not aged well these last few years. His manner, however, remained unchanged in its hospitable friendship, and he stepped out of his house to greet her.

"Dearest Grace," he exclaimed, surprised at her sudden appearance after so long an absence. "It is a wonder to see you again."

"Sir Edward. Please forgive the hour and my lack of forewarning; I am in Nottingham on my father's business and my decision to visit was quite sudden."

"Do not worry. Come in, it is warm inside. Marian I am sure will be pleased to see you."

As he spoke he led her into the house, where she was immediately encompassed by the heat of the fire burning pleasantly in the hearth. She had always found Knighton Hall to be a comfortable place; a smile made its way to her lips as her memories of it surfaced.

"Who is it Father?" came a voice from the top of the stairs, followed by light but rapid footsteps. The source of the noise stopped suddenly, and beamed a smile at her old friend.

"Marian," Grace allowed herself to be encompassed by a rough embrace. "It has been too long."

The three of them talked for an hour about meaningless things; their health, recent happenings in Hampshire and Nottingham, other people Marian knew from Grace's home; until Grace realised the time. She would be missed soon, she knew, and should be getting back before her guard called a search party.

"Wait, I forgot to ask," Marian held her up. "What brings you to Nottingham anyway?"

"Business of my father's," Grace said. She sighed, not wanting to burden these good people with her news but at the same time thinking that they could help her. "Stories of the Sheriff's treatment of the peasants in this county have reached and upset many nobles of Hampshire. My father would have liked to come in person but unfortunately... He is unable to travel at present."

"Why, what has happened?"

"His health is failing him," Grace stated, the words coming out in a rush. "Although we are trying to keep that a secret from Prince John's representatives for as long as possible. He saves his strength for their visits, which means that his duties as Sheriff must be undertaken by others. Such as myself."

"And the rumours you are hearing? What of them?" Sir Edward, Grace remembered, had always been more concerned with the wellbeing of his people than his friends. She admired him for it.

"That since your replacement took up power in Nottingham Castle the people have been constantly taxed, hanged for the slightest of crimes, tormented in their villages by Castle guards... Nottinghamshire is not the only county, but it seems to be at its worst here."

"And what exactly do you think speaking to the Sheriff will achieve? He will tell you nothing, and if he does they will most likely be lies."

"I am aware of that. I hope to gather his motives, one way or another. I know that my visit will not suddenly inspire a change of heart; he seems the sort of man who lacks everything from a conscience to a sense of decency. But my father tasked me with gathering information, and that is what I shall do."

"Then I wish you luck, for whatever good it will do you."

"Thank you, Sir Edward. But now I must go; my guard will undoubtedly be looking for me."

They bade their farewells, and Marian escorted her back outside.

"One thing you should know," she said in a low voice as Grace settled herself in her saddle. "Sir Guy is the Sheriff's Lieutenant; you will be bound to run into him in the castle somewhere, and if not he will certainly attend yours and the Sheriff's discussions."

Grace sighed, hers and Guy's last conversation playing itself in her mind once again. She pushed it away; she knew the details by heart already. "Sir Guy indeed? I did wonder if I would see him somewhere."

"Be careful," Marian warned, sensing her friend's concern. Grace merely laughed.

"I am always careful, Marian. It's a family trait. Farewell my friend."

She turned her horse and rode away back towards the roads, conflicted hopes brewing inside her.

Sir Guy, meanwhile, had been informed not five minutes previously that the Lady Grace was missing. He had been summoned to the Castle just after dawn, and now paced the Great Hall, fuming. Grace's guard had attempted to assure him that she had only gone out for a morning ride, that she often did things like that, and would be back soon. Guy, however, wasn't convinced. He was angry with her, he tried to tell himself. For being the cause of his waking at an untimely hour of the morning. He was not concerned. Not at all.

"Sir Guy," one of her red-liveried guards hovered in the Hall doorway above him. "The castle has been thoroughly searched with no results."

"Great," Guy muttered, meaning precisely the opposite. He took the stairs three at a time and brushed past the guard, a man whose face he recognised but couldn't name.

"Sir, she will return. She often does this sort of thing."

"Nottinghamshire," he spat at the man "Is a far more dangerous place than Hampshire."

"Of course, my Lord."

"Begin a search to the nearest villages. Take as many of the Sheriff's soldiers as you need."

"I assure you, that will not be necessary..."

"Do it. If she is not found..."

"Sir Guy!" a shout came from outside; the courtyard. Guy rushed to the nearest window. "Her Ladyship has returned."

The guard gave him a knowing smile before making his way down to his mistress, but Guy remained where he was, jaw clenched. He was not concerned, he told himself for the hundredth time. He was simply doing his duty as host.

Oh, who was he kidding? Of course he was concerned. He had no idea why; the last time he and Grace had met she had vowed never to see him again; but still he could not deny it. He was worried for her wellbeing.

He leaned, one hand on his sword, against the Castle's main doorway and watched her dismount her horse and hand it to a stable boy before allowing her guard to lead her up the main steps. She certainly still lived up to her name, Guy mused.

"Lady Grace," he announced, straightening up from the cold stone. He registered surprise in her expression; she had not seen him.

"Sir Guy," she inclined her head in greeting.

"Your absence has caused quite an upset this morning. Your guard had great concerns for your wellbeing." He shot the guard a subtle look that he hoped he would take as a hint to shut up and take the blame; he had to provide some kind of story that explained why most of the Sheriff's soldiers were awake and active so early in the morning. Fortunately, the guard read his message perfectly, although he did take the time to make his contempt for Guy shown.

"Your safety, My Lady, is our highest concern."

Grace laughed carelessly. "Stephen, you should know by now that I can take care of myself, even in the wilderness of Nottinghamshire."

Stephen inclined his head, and Guy indicated the direction back into the castle. He really should make his excuses and leave, he thought. He should avoid spending time alone with her as much as possible; to not do so was only inviting painful conversation. Unfortunately, his room was in the same direction as hers, if that was indeed where she was going. He would have to hope she did not send away the guard.

"Tell me," she began in a cool, indifferent voice. "Is your Sheriff awake yet, or would he prefer to wait for our discussion?"

"The Sheriff sleeps late," Guy informed her, matching his tone with hers. "I can have him woken if you would rather begin sooner..."

"No, no. I would like to catch him in a good mood."

Guy smirked. "Such a thing is not known to exist," he muttered, earning himself a bout of careless laughter.

"Stephen," Grace turned to her guard. They had reached a turning; the only turning that would have given him an excuse to part ways. "Go and make sure Matthew is alright, will you? Falling off one's horse is bound to create a few bruises."

"My Lady," Stephen inclined his head and disappeared around a corner. Grace, however, had stopped. She wanted to talk. This was not good.

"An accident on the road?"

"A wild deer leapt out in front of us. Matthew's horse is easily startled; it reared and he fell. He is quite alright, I am sure.

"You did not meet any outlaws?"

"None at all. It was a pleasant journey, actually."

"That is good to know."

They stood in silence a moment while each thought of another practical thing to say and failed to find one. It grew stifling for a matter of seconds, until Grace laughed her careless laugh, and raised her eyes towards the heavens.

"Look at us," she mused. "The last time we spoke it wasn't like this, was it?"

"The last time we spoke, Your Ladyship, you said you had no intention of seeing me again." Guy was not about to allow this conversation to become at all deep and meaningful. If it meant hurting her feelings, then so be it.

"Yes, well. It would seem that Fate had other plans for us, wouldn't it?"

"Indeed."

That silence again. It was the perfect moment, he reasoned, to make his excuses and disappear. He would see her again for the discussions and once more as a farewell the next morning, but then they would not be alone. And he could avoid having to bid her farewell.

"Excuse me," he implored, turning towards another corridor. "I must wake the Sheriff..."

"Guy," she cut him off and he stopped, turn only half completed. Her voice was different; it retained some emotion.

"I owe you an apology for that night. You did not deserve to be treated the way I treated you; for that I am sorry."

"Really?" he allowed his incredulity to bleed through his tone, bringing his eyes up for the first time to meet hers. He immediately wished he hadn't; those eyes, even as cold as they were then, had always transfixed him. This time, even after so many long years, was no different. They were obstructed for a few moments by her solemn nod. Those few moments were enough to break that spell.

"I suppose expect me to forgive you and continue our friendship as it has always been," he was being unreasonable, he knew, but if she wanted to discuss this then he would make his opinion known too. He surprised her by turning away from him to the window and smiling to herself.

"No," she said sadly. "No, I don't expect that. I have no right to your forgiveness."

"So why bother with apologies?"

"Because I do not want this hanging over our heads any longer. I do not like leaving arguments unresolved."

"So explain, then."

"I told you why I had to refuse."

"Oh, of course. Your father didn't approve. Do you think I am so..." he stopped himself abruptly as a castle guard made his way noisily along the corridor, and calmed his temper. "He gave me his blessing, Grace. The match was even his idea to begin with. Is it not understandable that I did not believe him to have changed his mind so quickly?"

"He wanted me to marry another Southerner," she explained, looking up at him. "Of course he did not tell me that until after you had gone."

This was news to Guy. "Why?"

"I have no idea. Something about preserving the family line, but he has never explained himself. I don't think he has a reason, really."

She leant against the sill of the window, looking out over the courtyard. The sun was how high enough to peep over the walls of the castle, but she did not even squint as she stared almost directly into it. Guy sighed to himself. He had fostered a burning contempt for this woman for a number of years, and for what? A simple misunderstanding. She had told him all of this before; had just been too proud to admit it. He would rather she had changed her mind than her father consider him unworthy, even if not for any real reason.

"And did you?" it was none of his business, but he had to know. She laughed again, that careless laugh. It was a laugh that seemed to defy, even in her worst moments of sadness, as much of Fate's decisions as it could.

"Not yet. Suitors are being chosen for me as we speak. My handmaid tells me that he is currently choosing out of the five he deems the most fitting." Her tone made clear her opinion of having her husband chosen for her out of men she had never met. He stepped towards her, his barriers falling away as they had always done when he was around her, and placed a hand on her back. He didn't really know what he was doing; he just knew that with her explanations he had forgiven her and a weight had fallen off him. She turned to him, eyes brimming with emotion, and he did nothing to fight the urge to take her into his embrace. She fit beneath his chin, and he realised as he felt her in his arms again that it was not contempt and loathing he had felt for her all these years. It was exactly the same feeling, merely accentuated due to loss, that he had felt while he had known her.

"Do you think things would have been different?" she wondered, "Had we married?"

"What things?"

"You know, England, Nottingham. This hideous taxing you're involved with." she looked up into his eyes. "You wouldn't be so cold, I know that."

"I do not know what you mean."

"You've changed, Guy. There was not this hard edge to you before. It's almost as if you are broken. I do hope it wasn't me that broke you."

Guy sighed. She was responsible, although not single-handedly. He left the sentence unanswered; she did not need to know such things.

"Perhaps," he said instead. It was a word that could mean anything, and he hoped it answered as many of her thoughts as possible.

"Gisbourne, there you are," the loud, grating voice of the Sheriff met them from over Guy's shoulder, and Grace immediately straightened up to avoid any insinuations.

"My Lord Sheriff," she greeted the small man with a slight incline of her head, as if she knew he would not offer any traditional welcomes. She had done her homework, Guy realised. He felt strangely smug at the prospect.

"Lady Grace. Well, shall we begin proceedings now? I have the Great Hall ready and waiting."

"Of course. Why delay?"

With a smile that was far from genuine, the Sheriff led the way back through the corridors. Guy smirked at Grace's expression as they followed him.

"I could not do what you do," she whispered. "I'm surprised you haven't killed him yet."

He pursed his lips to suppress laughter; he was equally surprised himself.

**Thanks for reading; please leave a review :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Well, this is it folks, final chapter; this is just a short little fic. Thanks to my two Guest reviewers, and enjoy. :)**

The Sheriff clicked his fingers, and immediately the boy hovering by the door went out to fetch more wine. He was annoyed. This Lady Grace person had so far proven to be almost as skilled at wordplay as he was. Every time the subject of the poor of Nottinghamshire was mentioned, she confounded him by averting the conversation to other things, such as Prince John and King Richard. She even surprised him by asking which of the two he would rather see on the throne of England.

"King Richard, naturally." had been his response, but he had a feeling she did not believe him. He would have to ask Gisbourne later if she was particularly good at reading expression.

Speaking of Gisbourne, the man had been of no use throughout the entire conversation. He merely leaned against the wall, saying nothing, watching whoever was speaking and offering no input of his own. The Sheriff's scheme to get Grace to provide a generous donation was not going according to plan.

The boy appeared with a new jug of wine and announced in a fearful whisper that the kitchens had prepared for dinner. The Sheriff cursed to himself; he had wanted this conversation to be over in a matter of minutes, not hours, and they had already talked their way through lunch.

"Shall we reconvene after a spot of food?" he asked in what he hoped was a gracious manner.

"Thank you, Sheriff, but I believe we have reached a stalemate in this discussion. I see now that there will be no persuading you to cut your peoples' taxes."

"Sorry," he replied, not sorry at all. "But King Richard's campaign needs funding from somewhere, and since the Church will not pay..."

"I understand. Thank you for your time, Sheriff."

As she got up to leave, he panicked. He did not have what he wanted from her, and if he did not make his move now, he never would. He skirted his table in order to reach her.

"Your Ladyship," he pleaded, appearing at her elbow, hands clasped in front of him. "Might I make an offer? If you really are so... outraged... at the strength of my taxes, then perhaps you could assist the people of Nottingham."

Grace raised an eyebrow.

"A small donation, perhaps, to lessen their pain."

At last she seemed to understand, and leaned towards him, voice low. This looked promising. "My Lord Sheriff, the people of Nottinghamshire pay twice in a week what the people of Hampshire pay in a month. In a county where feeding the peasants is not a hanging offence, my donation to the poor is already well founded. The more you tax your people, the less I shall tax mine. After all, King Richard's requirements are only so high."

With a triumphant smile that the Sheriff longed to wipe off her face, she breezed past him and up the stairs. No sooner had she left the room did the Sheriff make his frustration evident. With a growl, he threw his wine goblet; still half full; across the room.

"She knew!" he hissed at Gisbourne. "She knew! How did she know?"

"My Lord, I tried to warn you that she is clever. She may well have known, or simply worked it out for herself throughout the conversation."

"Warn me? You did no such thing as warn me!"

Gisbourne protested as the Sheriff began to hit him, safe in the knowledge that the taller man would not retaliate. "If she was able to work that out, Gisbourne, what else could she interpret? You tell me that. She might now be wise to everything!"

"And if she has, she will have nothing more than speculations and assumptions, My Lord."

"True..." the Sheriff considered this, calming down slightly. "Very well Gisbourne, let her leave. That little promise of hers is a perfect excuse for me to continue to tax the poor of Nottingham; the King does, after all, have his requirements."

Chuckling to himself, he bounded up the stairs, once again pleased with the events of the day, and headed towards his room for dinner.

"Did he suspect anything, My Lady?" Stephen asked, not for the first time.

"Not that I could tell. And anyway, if he did, all he has are speculations and assumptions. Nothing to use against me. Now stop worrying about it."

A soft knock on the door cut off Stephen's response, but his face gave enough of it away.

"Come in," she instructed, and motioned to Stephen to continue packing her bags. Sir Guy entered the room, his face, as always, unreadable.

"He did not suspect a thing," he announced, mostly to Stephen. "He was convinced you had been warned of his little plan, but I managed to persuade him that it was not an issue."

"Thank you."

"You are leaving?"

"I loath to be away from my father for long when he is dealing with unruly peasants," she said, hoping her cover story would pass. Not that it mattered if it didn't; Guy would never tell his Sheriff something as meaningless as that.

"You ought to stay until morning. The road through Sherwood is dangerous at night."

"If these outlaws of yours are so busy giving out food and rescuing peasants during the day," she reasoned, attempting to cover up Stephen's sudden cough. "When do you suppose they sleep? If I leave now, I can be well out of Sherwood by nightfall."

"Very well..." Sir Guy accepted, and then paused. Grace turned to Stephen, sensing what he meant by it.

"Stephen, could you see to the horses please?"

Her guard cast a suspicious glance, but left without a word.

"You are welcome to stay as long as you like," he offered, stepping towards her.

"Guy, I would love to spend more time with you. But I must return now; there is other business for me to attend to."

"Your father is ill," he stated. It wasn't a question; he knew.

"How could you possibly know that?"

"Everyone knows it, but," he picked up on Grace's visible disappointment instantly. "I will do my best to keep such news from the Sheriff."

"Thank you Guy. It seems I have a lot to show gratitude for today."

"It does not matter. But please..."

He had been about to ask her to stay until the morning, she could tell, but he was interrupted by the sudden and unannounced arrival of Stephen. She immediately took a small step away from Guy.

"Forgive me, My Lady," Stephen was out of breath. "The messenger has come from Hampshire."

"Send him in," she instructed, but Stephen was ahead of her. Robert, her father's most trusted messenger, was already making his way into the room. He cast a questioning eye at Guy, but proceeded with Grace's nod.

"My Lady. Your father, His Lordship the Sheriff, is dead."

Once again, the forest was quiet. It usually was at this time of the day, and Robin had promised his gang that they would spend only another half an hour out in the trees. He understood their reluctance; it was getting dark and cold, and even he didn't really want to be out there much longer when there was a warm camp to be going back to. Twenty-five minutes, by his count, passed, and he was about to give up when the sound of horses reached his ears. He smiled again; they were in luck.

The five horses and the formation in which they were riding were a familiar sight to Robin as he watched them pass beneath his tree, and he signalled to his men to call off the ambush. Instead he alone emerged, landing deliberately loudly to the side of Lady Grace's guards. The five of them slowed to a stop; she had been trying to find him, it seemed.

"My Lady," he greeted, stepping out onto the road. Grace swung off her horse in one deft movement.

"Robin. I cannot stay long, I must return as quickly as possible. I merely came to tell you that while I could not work out the finer points of the Sheriff's plan, but I do know it has something to do with replacing our King with his brother. At least, he hinted as much."

"So you have no definite evidence?"

"No, but be careful. With ideals like that he cannot be working alone; he probably has some very powerful friends."

"Thank you. And what of you? Why the sudden desire to leave?"

Grace turned away from him, hiding her face beneath her hood. He placed a hand on her shoulder, concerned.

"My father died this morning," she explained, a tear emerging from her eye. Robin wiped it away.

"Grace, I am sorry. If there is anything we can do..."

"No, no. Don't worry about me. I am just sorry that you can no longer count Hampshire as an ally; Prince John will undoubtedly waste no time in replacing him with someone much similar in character to your Sheriff."

"We will manage. Thank you for this warning."

"You're welcome. And be assured that I will not hesitate in alerting you as soon as word of King Richard's arrival comes to Hampshire; the shire houses most of his likely landing destinations." Grace turned and re-positioned herself atop her horse.

"Have a safe journey; if you like my men and I can accompany you to the edge of the forest."

"That will not be necessary; my guard are not quite as useless as the Sheriff's. Farewell, Robin of Locksley."

The five of them continued along the road, and Robin watched them go. "Farewell my friend," he murmured. He wondered if her life would be in danger from the new Sheriff of Hampshire. His men emerged from the trees, their weapons sheathed.

"So what now?" Will asked.

"Now we watch the Sheriff."

"I'm not being funny, but haven't we been doing that from the beginning?"

"Closely, Alan, we watch him closely. If Grace was right and he does have a plan to replace King Richard, then we will need to be ready."

As the six of them made their way back along the road and through the trees, the sun lowered and disappeared completely, ending the day with more questions than there had been at its beginning.

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